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“Dean.... Dean.”
Someone pushed at his shoulder, rousing him to consciousness. When he heard his name pleaded a third time, Dean cracked one eye open.
The two dark eyes staring at him were so close he could see them even in the blackness of... 1:43am. Christ, Sammy. Dean sighed, shutting his eyes, “What, Sam? The bathroom’s over there,” he waved in the vague direction of it.
“I had a nightmare, Dean,” Sam was gripping the bedsheets tightly in his fists, pulling just a little, hinting at what he wanted.
“Sam,” Dean grumbled, “It’s two in the morning and you’re getting too old for this shit. Go back to bed.” His little brother had just turned ten and it was about time he stopped having these stupid dreams or, at the very least, learned to deal with them on his own.
“But Dean--”
“No, Sam.” There was low whimper and Dean could hear the pout forming on Sam’s face. No. He wasn’t giving in to this shit. “Go back to bed, Sammy.” He shut his eyes and rolled over, back facing his little brother. He wanted to make his little brother feel better, he really did, he could never say no to Sam and really mean it. But damn it, Sammy was getting old enough now--he’d been talking with Dad and they were probably gonna start taking him on hunts with them soon. God knows Sam had been bitching about it enough to persuade John.
Dean heard Sam pull away, the soft rustle of bedsheets being pulled back over his small frame. Dean shut his eyes tightly and willed himself to go back to sleep--it was difficult. Sam was getting older and Dean wouldn’t always be there (though, he knew that was only if Sam chose to leave--Dean would always, always be there for his brother if Sam wanted him there) and he needed to stop babying his little brother...
There was a choked whimpering noise behind Dean and he twisted on the mattress, spinning around to look over at the tiny lump that was Sam’s fetal form. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness in their room, he could just make out the way Sam was shaking--it was infrequent enough that he thought he was imaging it, his eyes playing tricks. But the soft, gasping sounds that fluttered out into the heavy silence made Dean think twice about this whole tough-love routine.
Finally, grumbling to himself, Dean got up and crossed the short distance between their beds. “Was it really that bad, Sam?” He got a whimper in reply. Damn it.
His little brother startled as he pulled the sheets back, and the mattress dipped under Dean’s weight enough to roll Sam back a little. But, as Dean scooted closer and pressed Sam’s back flush against him, wrapping an arm tight around his baby brother, Sam’s whole body relaxed into it. He could still feel small tremors pulsing through Sam’s too-small body but as they lay there, Dean wrapped tightly against him, the tremors slowed and eventually stilled.
“It’s ok, Sammy... I gotcha,” Dean whispered soft against Sam’s ear, the soft curls there tickling his face. It made him smile--gotta cut that hair, kiddo. “Nothing’s gonna get you, I’m right here...”
And that was all Sam needed--the reaffirmation of what he already knew to be the god’s honest truth; that Dean would always be there, protecting him from anything in the world. Including himself.